Scattered Memories
by CNJ
Summary: Now in his early forties, Harry keeps a promise to his late friend, Trevor Robinson, to look out for his mum. A short one-chapter story. Complete!


Hii, thanks for the reviews, all of you! Thanks to several helpful suggestions, I'm trying to make my paragraphs shorter; I've looked over my stories and have been bit by bit trying to break up the long paragraphs into shorter ones...hopefully in time (when I get time breaks in my busy schedule), it'll be done. 

Here's a new one...in this one, Harry is middle-aged, married, with two daughters who he adopted from none other than Dudley Dursley. He's also teaching music and he and his wife Janice live right outside of Hogsmeade. His daughters are now teenagers and are Hogwarts students, since it was discovered that they were witches as well. 

It's a short one, just one chapter when Harry visits his friend's mum, who has Alzheimer's. And in addition, the usual disclaimers that none of the characters the HP fans recognize belong to the current author; they are JK Rowling's. Nor sure how fitting the title is; I actually write this short story in one bit of a fit of creativity on a work break. Sooo, enjoy this short-one chapter story! 

**Scattered Memories**

_By_: CNJ 

_PG-13_

**Harry:**

I enter the muggle world once again that chilly November afternoon after teaching my last class of the week. It's Friday and my week to visit Marla Robinson. Robinson, the name goes through my mind as I drive slowly toward the nursing home where she now resides. 

Trevor's been gone for seven long years...Trevor Robinson, my college roommate, fifth cousin, and dear friend. My look-alike, my alter-ego, as he used to joke because we looked very much alike...same snub noses, same fair skin, same dark hair, same almond-shaped eyes, same thin curvy lips. 

But there were some differences...he was more outgoing and bubbly than I could ever hope to be. His hair was dark brown while mine is jet black...or was, but is now turning gray. I wear glasses and he only wore them for reading once he reached adulthood. His eyes were bright blue while mine are dark greenish-hazel. As I wait for a light, I catch my expression in the mirror...so serious and also full of a guarded sadness. So much has gone on... 

Then again, doesn't much happen once you graduate from college? I think over where my life has gone as I continue on the green light, then take a turn onto a quiet street full of victorian-looking buildings. Muggle buildings, I think. I live in the magical world since I am a wizard, but I periodically make visits to the muggle world since I have muggle family...my aunt Marge, Marla, and until Trevor died, Trevor. 

I swallow over a small lump in my throat at the memory of Trevor's sweet face. What a senseless tragedy that took his life at the young age of thirty-eight...drowning in Atlantic City in an unexpected squall. He'd not only been my friend, but the husband of another good friend of mine, Hermione Granger as well as the father of their two kids. 

How I'll never forget that stark day when I got the news of Trevor's death...the squall had come up when Hermione and Trevor along with others had been on a boat out away from the beach. Hermione had luckily survived along with a few others, but Trevor had drowned along with three others. 

I'd been writing up on a case I was working on as an auror class B when another friend of mine Ron Weasley had come into the office and beckoned me out into the hall, his normally cheerful face sober and strained. His sister Ginny had been with him and they'd given me the news. 

The rest of that sunny May day is in surreal patches of memories, but I do remember coming back in and piling my papers meticulously, putting it all away, then following Ron and Ginny to the car and asking if Hermione was all right. Once all three of us made it to the car, we held hands and sobbed, our hands trembling. 

Trevor's body was flown back here to England to be buried. The morning of the funeral, Hermione and I wept in each others' arms for what felt like hours, then we headed for the funeral, feeling that the sun had no right to be out and shining. It took each of us several years, along with our kids to be able to move on. Even today, I still find it hard to feel joy. 

I take comfort in my remaining friends, my wonderful wife, Janice Potts, who works for the Ministry in the Defense Against the Dark Arts and my dear daughters, Eva and Margo, now students at my secondary school alma mater, Hogwarts. Hermione has done a great job raising her two kids by herself and they too are now at Hogwarts. 

Trevor was a muggle and so is his mum. His kids were wizard and witch...Evan and Geneveve. Trevor used to joke that he was a squib by choice, a muggle in a family of magicals. How I missed his dry, witty sense of humor. I missed his dramatic ways; he was an actor in his teens, then once he became an adult, wrote scripts for films. 

I turn into the pristine parking lot at Manor Inn and look around until I find a space. I'm always a bit nervous about parking in a narrow space between two cars; driving is not one of my specialties. Getting out, I pull out some clean laundry for Marla, a couple of little sweets, the head in, my jacket blowing in the wind. 

"I'm here to see Marla Robinson, please," I softly tell Bertha, the receptionist on duty for the afternoon. 

"Whaaaa i' thaaaa'?!" she bellows in a thick cockneyed accent typical of the British country. "I caain't 'eere ya'!" Several people turn to look at us and I blush, wishing that she didn't have such a loud voice. 

"Marla Robinson," I say, not wanting to speak too loudly. On top of it, I have a naturally soft voice. I take out a paper and start to write down I'm here to see Marla... but she nods and has me sign the book and waves me in. 

I go in, my stomach feeling odd at the sight of all the old people in wheelchairs. I should be used to it by now, but it always jars me...I wonder if it's because I am so sensitive. 

In an odd way, I am glad that Trevor isn't here to see his mum deteriorate from Alzheimer's...I just know his heart would be broken since he was also highly sensitive. I find room one-forty. She's not there, but her roommate, a ninety-six year old woman is. She stares up at me blankly as I enter. 

"Hello..." I smile at her, even though I doubt she even knows what's going on. She continues to stare blankly. I go out and look in the lounge...there's Marla. Marla is still physically very intact, but her mind is going; she's almost eighty now. She looks up, sees me and smiles. 

Sometimes she remembers who I am and other times she doesn't. There have been a few times when she's confused me with Trevor. She's been told that Trevor is dead. Sometimes she remembers it and other times she doesn't. Hermione and I conferred about this and decided the best course of action was to just play along...if she called me Trevor, I'd respond as if I were. 

"Hello..." I say giving her a hug. "How's your week been?" 

"Hello..." she responds and touches my hair. A telly is on at the far corner and she looks at it from time to time along with several other residents. It is a film, but I can't figure out which one it is. I almost never watch the telly, so it's a bit hard on my ears to have extra voices blaring. 

"Remember me?" I say, sitting on the couch beside her. "It's Harry..." 

"Harry...yes," she smiles and for now she remembers who I am. I'm never sure how long that will last, though. My heart squeezes as I hold her hand and talk for a while. It must be scary to just lose memories; I don't know what I will do if I ever get Alzheimer's. 

As I talk about what's going on at my work and just general things, a nurse calls, "Hello, Harry..." 

"Hello..." I call back. 

"You're Marla's son, right?" Alex, the nurse says. "So good to see you again." 

"Close...I'm her sixth cousin." I tell her. I smile politely at her, then ask Marla, "So, is this film any good?" 

"No...same boring drivel..." Marla leans back. "Been working on another project...this time building flats along the roads closest to the tube." Marla used to be an architect. I nod. 

"That's nice." I say. "That'll make it easier to get to work in London." I swallow, realizing that it's her mind going back to her younger days. Will she ask for Trevor? I wondered. If she does, I can tell her...he's working. I feel funny making up things, lying, since I'm not a good liar, but she accepts it, thank goodness. If I try to tell her that Trevor is dead, she doesn't believe it and it's just...not right to upset her unnecessarily. I ask leading questions about this "project" for the next few minutes. 

"Whaaaat project?" An old man bellows across the room from a wheelchair. "Unless you call pulling out seams of old clothing a 'project!'" he added. I fight the urge to tell him to shut up, since he probably doesn't have his mind intact either. 

The telly is pressing on my nerves for real now, so I suggest to Marla that we go on to her room and play a bit of dominoes, a simple muggle game. Marla nods and we go. 

On the way there, I think of Ron, who is slowly losing his hearing due to an ear infection and is now almost completely deaf. It's hard for him, but recently he has accepted it. Maybe the telly's loudness brought that to my mind. Marla's roommate is gone, so we have the room to ourselves. 

"Trevor...how's the latest film coming?" she asks as we begin the game. 

"Oh...it's..." I clear my throat. "Coming along..." I wonder which film she is talking about since Trevor filmed at least five films in his teens. 

"Just don't let them work you too hard, dearie," she says as she strokes my arm. "My goodness, your voice is really changing, isn't it? Don't worry if it cracks, dear, it's part of growing up." I nod and put down a six. I mentally guess that the Trevor in Marla's mind is about thirteen or so. 

"Hey, listen, if your father tries to wheedle information out of you, just tell him that you don't know and to ask me," Marla goes on. Trevor's parents divorced when he was fourteen. It's painful to hear this, but I put on a brave front for her sake. And for Trevor's memory. 

"Don't worry, he won't," I say, pretending to be Trevor for a moment. 

"Is everything all right?" she asks as the row of dominoes grows across the little table. "For the past few months, you've been more tense, more withdrawn...is everything at the studio all right? You can tell me, dear." I don't know what to say at that, so I put down a two, then help Marla match it. 

"It's so good you have Harry for a roommate," she continues as she gathers up the dominoes after the play. "He's such a sweet, wonderful young man...and he looks so much like you but for the glasses...are you seeing anyone else...?" she asks, peering at me. 

"Not at the moment..." I say softly, helping her put away the pieces. Like pieces of scattered memories...they really don't go away, especially the long-term memories, but with Alzheimer's, they shatter and scatter all over and are mixed up. Some are vivid; some are faded, but there're there none the less. I don't know if she's asking about me or Trevor now. 

Outside, it is growing dark and soon Janice will be home from work, so I bid her goodbye, kissing her cheek and leave. As I leave, I think I see tears glint in her eyes. 

"If I see Trevor on the other side..." she said softly. "I'll tell him you said hello." 

"I will," I nod, tears stinging my own eyes. As I sign out and leave, Bertha looks at me curiously. I'm a little embarrassed at her seeing my tears, but I just politely bid her goodbye and go. It's windy out. I wipe my eyes, get into the car and sit for a long minute. I then turn on the radio to soft music and head home. 

The dusk and bare trees remind me of the changing seasons of lives. Just like all of our lives, I think. Only some seasons of some lives are shorter than others. Trevor's certainly was. I feel sad for Marla since she's lost her only son. Her grandkids and Hermione see her every so often as well. I wonder, though if she feels the same empty pit in her stomach as Hermione, her kids, and I do? 

Once I cross over into the magical world, my mobile rings. It's a magical mobile, not like the muggle ones. It's Hermione and we talk a bit about my visit, then she tells me about Evan and Geneveve's latest owls. We manage weak laughs. It was a long time before either of us could laugh again, but slowly we're coming back bit by bit. 

Once I click off, I think of my own daughters, also at Hogwarts along with Evan, Geneveve and Ron's three kids and Ginny and Neville Longbottom's twin daughters. I hoped we'd been strong enough for them so they could face whatever would inevitable come in their lives. 

_Storyline Copyright_ by **CNJ** 2003 


End file.
